


Tears in their Eyes

by VoteForNuke



Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [12]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoteForNuke/pseuds/VoteForNuke
Summary: What if Big Boss really got The Boss' wish wrong? What if he never came back to create Outer Heaven?
Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884223
Kudos: 8





	Tears in their Eyes

“Excuse me, sir,” 

John looked over his shoulder. A middle-aged woman, perm loose in her hair, gave him an apologetic smile with the tilt of her head, shoulders sagging with a sigh. A five or six year old boy was hanging from her hand, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“I’m so sorry, but do you have ‘Sour Patch Kids’?” She sounded the words out like they were a forgien language. “The manager said they should be on the selves by now, we visited earlier.” 

John offered an understanding smile. “How many?” He asked, pushing his stock cart aside to reach the gummy candy. 

“Three, please.” Her voice was tinged with relief. “That should hold him off until Friday.” John responded with a chuckle as he handed her the three bags. 

“I have one of my own at home.” Though, he was older by about ten years. Kids were still kids; impatient, demanding things, victim to wild bouts of emotion. No different than anyone else, actually. He and the woman exchanged that understanding smile he’d slowly been learning, then went back to stocking shelves as she drug her son away. 

This wasn’t a bad life, really. It was one John had never led before, a strange adventure of its own kind, but definitely not bad. He kind of liked it, actually. He liked the tame excitement mixed with comfortable monotony, watercooler talk and signing birthday cards for the cashiers. It definitely wasn’t what Ocelot had imagined when he told John to lay low. He’d had that anxious look in his eye, like his delicate little puzzle had just been torn asunder and he was scrambling for the new answers. There were no new answers. John had sent him on his way with a flash of his Ruger. 

He wasn’t a player in the game, not anymore. No plastic surgery, no name change, no cowering until the coast was clear. CIPHER could come for him, finish him off, but they’d only be killing a man. John wasn’t Big Boss anymore. He was a stocker at Kash N’ Karry, Monday to Friday. On Saturday and Sunday he was pretty mean on the grill, and enjoyed his son’s baseball games. 

No longer did he lead an army with no nation. Hell, he could barely even lead the PTA. Thankfully, Mrs. Koger was always there to back him up, his new XO. He was just a man. A man with a name and no past, but hopefully a future. Hopefully a future where he could see Frank graduate, help him pack up for college. 

Hanging his apron on the hook, John pulled his motorcycle boots from his locker. It was a break from the pickup truck, a taste of the wind on his face. It had been so long since he’d had a clean shaven face, short cropped hair. Once again, not bad, just a little weird. Even a year into his new life, he was still a little shocked to see himself in the mirror. He wondered if...she would like this. If she would like his new life. She had to like it better than his old one, or else she wouldn’t have haunted him. 

There were days when John was afraid to sleep. He’d spent so long asleep, so long in a world that didn’t make sense, yet spoke so clearly. A world that he feared. Her domain, some awful twist of heaven and hell. Visions of her screaming in his face, the words coming out brittle and fuzzy and distant like a broken transmission; visions of her prim and proper at a tea table, pointedly ignoring his polite attempts at conversation; visions of laying beside her in a field of lilies, her scar aching through him. Visions of her asking him what he was loyal to, what was he willing to die for. No,  _ really  _ die for. What would you give your soul for, Jack? Visions that brought him here. Visions of what real peace was. 

Peace was cooking dinner for two. Peace was late night TV and playing Atari when Frank had gone to bed. Peace was an afternoon motorcycle ride, peace was matching his son’s grin when he hoped on the back. This is what he was loyal to. 

  
  



End file.
